


Sculpture

by AkutamFurno (DregranEntropy)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adulthood, Anxiety, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Love, Young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DregranEntropy/pseuds/AkutamFurno
Summary: Adults like me don't fall for people like this...





	Sculpture

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to Jenny by Studio Killers on repeat inspired me to write this.

The model for this class has curves and muscle tone that I just can’t get right. The outline of my sketch is shaky. I’m smudging the pencil with sweaty hands when I shade. The image isn’t in the centre of the canvas. This is difficult with such a big distraction in the room.

This is the first time there’s been a naked male model. It’s only his second time here, and some of the other girls are already drooling over him like bitches in heat. It’s not like we haven’t drawn a penis in class before. This time there’s just a body attached, nothing that amazing.

Monica is sitting opposite me. She is my distraction: every time I look up at the model, I see through her thin white blouse. Her bra is black, clearly visible. I bet she doesn’t notice I’m looking at her. When our eyes do meet, she gives me a smile. She is so cute.

After a three-hour session, which I have very little to show for, the instructor thanks the model. To the dismay of the younger girls, he dresses in leather and leaves. I know they’re dreaming of clinging to his back while he rides away on his motorcycle. They care only about one thing. They’re so petty.

He winks at Monica as he walks past her, and she blushes. The squad of girls pack up and leave despite the instructor’s quiet plea to put their canvases away. It’s going to be me and Monica packing up once again.

Monica and I are good friends. I love her. She is always there for me, always supporting me. But she probably likes the model. I’m not mad at her. He had a good figure, for a male, and he did end up winking at her, not one of his fangirls.

As we put the canvases at the back of the room, we walk past each other, brushing shoulders.

“That lesson was a little awkward,” she laughs. She blushes a little when she smiles, her dimples showing. It’s a warm smile, but I can’t help feeling like it’s not a smile for me.

I don’t say anything. Whatever I could muster would give away my mood. I hurry up with the stands, grab my bag, and leave the studio before she does.

I retreat to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall. This is pathetic. I can already feel tears coming on as I sit on the closed toilet seat. For how long I’ve known Monica, it’s stupid for me to feel like this. I’m 24, living on my own, working a shit job, studying to be an artist. I’m an adult. Why would an adult fall for someone 5 years younger than them and cry in the bathroom about it?

Some other people come into the bathroom, so I wipe away my tears. They walk to the mirror and start gossiping about some hot boy in one of their classes. They’re making a game out of who can sleep with him first. Someone else enters, which stops the conversation. The group exit without saying anything else.

I’ll leave after this other girl does. She hasn’t said anything, and hasn’t entered a stall yet. I can make it to my car without seeing Monica, as she is having lunch with someone special to her. It’s probably a boyfriend. We never talk about things like that.

This girl still hasn’t left. Oh well. I stand, flush, and open the stall door. Monica is facing the mirror, smiling at me.

“Hey,” she says. Her skin looks so clear. Her smile is genuine. I manage to give a goofy grin in return.

“Everything alright?” she asks. I walk to the sink and pool water in my hands.

“Just fine,” I lie, splashing my face with water. I rub my eyes. I hope it wasn’t obvious that was I was crying.

I feel someone touch my arms from behind. I put down my hands to the sink: it’s Monica, standing behind me now. She moves her hands up my triceps, then over my shoulders, turning this into a weird hug.

The door opens. This was a bad idea. I grab Monica’s hands, and pull them up. I must get her off me. She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. I say “Hey” to the girl who just entered, and she mumbles, entering a stall.

Monica stops leaning on me, but leads me by the hand out of the bathroom. People blur past. Is she taking me to meet the someone special? I don’t want to meet anyone new. I try to slip my hand out of her grip, but she is holding too tight.

When we stop, we’re at a café at the end of the campus. Not many people go here, especially not this time of day. Monica sits at a table for two, and gestures her hand to the seat opposite.

“But what about the… person you were going to have lunch with?” I don’t want to impose. Monica should have a good time with her someone special instead of me.

“They’re already here,” she smiles, grabbing my hand. She is gentle, and her palms are soft. I sit down opposite her, both her hands now clasping mine.

“I love you, but there’s something I need to tell you,” I say. I feel comfortable around her, and since there’s no one else here, I can be open to her.

“I know,” she says. “I’ve always known.” She looks down at her hands. I have no words. Monica is the person I’m closest to. I’ve told her everything, except that I’ve fallen for her. It makes sense that she can figure that out.

“I feel the same,” she says, looking up at me again, smiling. Something is bothering her, though. “I thought about it for a long time. You are always so nice to me, Shelly. I can’t ask for a better friend, for someone else to comfort me like you do. You’re one of a kind.”

This is what I want to hear, what I could only dream of hearing, but Monica’s expression is pained. She doesn’t look sad or upset, just something is bothering her. Even if I could think of the right thing to say, I can’t bring myself to interrupt her.

“I am in love with you. It’s okay if you don’t want to rush things, if you want to make sure I feel this way, I understand. I’ve thought about it. It’s just,” she breaks my gaze again.

“I know,” I say. I lean forward, and she blushes, doing the same. It’s just a peck, but it’s the first time she has kissed another girl. When we pull away and sit back, interlocking our fingers. I’m smiling like some fool in love. That’s because I am a fool, and I’m in love.  



End file.
